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Odd Socks

Mrs Groundsel enjoyed washing clothes but for the past two weeks she became angry on washing day.

Her day would start as normal. She collected the dirty clothes brought them to the river bed filled a bucket with clean water and then washed the clothes. Then she would return to her cave and hang the washing on the long clothes line Breeze had made for her.

The line started at the top of the mountain and finished at the bottom of the mountain close to the edge of the wood. It might be a tiresome job to most of those who lived in the wood but Mrs. Groundsel loved washing day. She loved seeing her line of washing flapping in the wind.

Breeze said it looked like a line of colorful flags dancing around the mountain. Then in the afternoon she would take her washing from the line and begin to pair up the socks. This is when she discovered her problem.

She knew there was twelve pairs of black socks. She had five. There should have been one pair of socks in every other color. Then there were the spotty ones in different colors. Now there was one of each of the colored socks and the spotty ones.

She had a basket of odd socks.

She got angry. Her pin fell out of her hair and her hair escaped from its neat bun. She fixed her hair then she marched to Breeze’s cave. “Have you or Hamish been messing around with my clothes line?”

Breeze shook his head. Hamish said, “No. We know better than to do something so foolish. You would not like us to do that.”

“So where did they go?” Mrs Groundsel looked at Breeze and said, “Go find them.”

“I’m not a finder of socks.” Breeze said. He noticed how angry Mrs Groundsel looked. “But I can always try.” He said.

This reminds me of the time when I was eight or nine and my mother sent me outside to hang up the clothes. The clotheslines had icicles hanging from them. I know you can imagine how my bare fingers felt! When I brought them back in the house that afternoon, the clothes were frozen. We then hung them everywhere–over doors, the backs of chair, etc.

Your story reminds me of the pleasure I derive from seeing my wash flapping in the breeze. Although I have had a dryer for forty-five years, I still hang part of Monday’s wash on the clothesline (weather permitting). As a matter of fact, whenever we moved, I asked my husband to plant the clothesline in the yard first. There is nothing like the smell of air-dried clothes.